Evolution's Variegation
by recycledsoul
Summary: As Brennan's relationship with Booth progresses, she remembers moments from the past seven years. Inspired by Alice Walker's poem "Listen."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've read a lot of Bones fan-fiction, but have never written any until I wrote this fic. I was inspired after reading Alice Walker's poem "Listen." This fic is broken up into 6 sections, with a stanza of Walker's poem inspiring each one. These stanzas appear at the beginning of the section and are Alice Walker's words, not mine. Neither the poetry nor the characters belong to me.

There are spoilers for the entire series.

Since this is my first fic, constructive criticism is most welcome. I hope I've done these wonderful characters justice. Thanks for reading!

* * *

><p><em>Listen,<br>I never dreamed  
>I would learn to love you so.<em>

When the doors of the lecture hall opened and he walked through them, you barely noticed the interruption. When he asked you a question about destroying evidence, you smiled as you gave your answer, always certain of your knowledge and your facts. When your students began to exit the room, he walked toward you. When you shook his hand, you felt the familiar rise and pull of sexual attraction. Six years later, this man who stood in front of you that day would stand in front of you again and ask for a chance, just a chance. He would say that he knew right from the beginning.

You did not know right from the beginning, but you know now.

You remember a moment like a dream, a moment when you asked him if he loved you and he offered to prove that love. You remember other moments, too, when you also tried to offer proof.

You remember your firm and repeated "no" to his plea for a chance, convinced you were not enough yet scared you were somehow too much for him at the same time. You knew such a feeling was an illogical contradiction, and you used to hate that he made you feel such a thing all the time.

You remember your cautious smile as he showed you the photo of the woman with whom he had moved on and you wanted to tell him so many things: that you were sorry for not contacting him, that you thought of him as you knelt in the dirt, looking carefully for clues that would help explain our humanity. You did not say these things, but would later tell him that while you were away, you imagined the two of you together. You tried to convince yourself such a pairing would never last, but you considered something Booth told you once, something he heard from a wise British psychologist about the heart choosing what it chooses.

You remember telling the blond reporter about a phone, your eyes lighting up with the same joy you knew he'd feel when he received the gift. Though you know you're not always great at reading the signals other people give, you somehow learned how to read his. As he held the red bow in his hand and followed you to the door, you were able to smile with sincerity since you knew the look he was giving you meant that he knew who the gift was really from. You did not receive the thanks of his kiss, but his happiness was enough of a reward at that moment. You left his apartment (no, _their_apartment) with a lightness you hadn't felt since a playful conversation about soul mates and Plato.

You remember moving your place mat to the head of the table, even though you wanted to leave it next to his but knew you couldn't because that seat was already taken. In enough time for the world to turn upside down, you felt an uncomfortable feeling you would come to label as regret in his SUV, cold and drenched from the rain, your own pain making it impossible to see the agony on his face as he clutched the steering wheel and silently cursed fate.

You remember the night in the bar when he was drunk and angry and told you about two choices. You were no longer denying that you wanted a third option so badly, but you stayed and you drank and you got him home safely, both of your hearts heavy with questions about timing and loss.

You remember these moments of trying to prove your love for him, though you weren't always sure that's what you were doing until he told you that you didn't need to prove anything anymore, that he was as certain of your commitment to him as you are of your science and bones. You believed him because he is Booth. You learned that after two heart-crushing rejections, a hopeful promise of finally taking that chance, and the pure delight on his face when you told him he was going to be a father again that he never wanted proof, but only wanted you.


	2. Chapter 2

_You are as flawed  
>as my vision<br>As short tempered  
>as my breath.<em>

_Moron_, _bully_, _stupid_: these are the words you once used to describe the man sleeping beside you now. You're awake because you got angry tonight and used more words like these and they are haunting you. You saw hurt on his face, but you kept raising your voice, letting your angry emotions control you. After your tirade-the first since you and he crossed the line he drew while sitting on a bench in front of a carousel-you expected to hear the sound of a door slamming shut behind him. You have grown so much and have learned how to trust people, but inside the woman you've become dwells the girl who was abandoned at fifteen. In your worst moments, you still expect the people you love to walk away from you. But instead of walking away, he walked closer. And though your earlier argument wasn't really his fault and you both know that to be true, he hugged you and said, "I'm sorry, Bones."

_Bones._ This nickname used to be your greatest annoyance. You have a name: Dr. Temperance Brennan. He knew this, yet the nickname stuck. You never stopped to think about when you began to embrace the identity of Bones rather than Brennan until Angela asked you about nicknames and you couldn't suppress your pleased smile when you thought of Booth.

During the first year of your partnership, you broke down in a killer's barn, confused about your family and yourself. You spoke aloud your name and your credentials and there Booth was, arms around you telling you that he knows who you are.

You realize tonight as you struggle with your guilt that he has always known who you are. And he stayed. He is here in your bed after you yelled at him for a reason you can't quite remember. He is here with you and has spoken to your belly daily since he found out about your pregnancy. You told him once that a fetus at this stage of development is unable to recognize a person's voice. With the use of the word "fetus," he looked at you and said, "No, Bones. This is our baby, a child." You knew then that he was right, regardless of the physical development of the baby inside your womb.

You know Booth is with you because he loves you and you know that you love him so you turn on a lamp, roll over, and wake him up so that you can let him know.

His eyes drag open as you shake his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows at you, squinting with the brightness of the light and wonders out loud what you need.

"I love you, Booth." You say this with every ounce of strength and conviction you have because it is a fact. Before Booth, facts were your greatest comfort. You can't pinpoint the moment this changed, but you're okay with that now.

Even though you have been in a romantic relationship with this man for three months now and are carrying his child, this is the first time you summon the courage to speak these words of love out loud. Though you have hesitated to share these words because of lingering doubt that they are not enough, he has spoken them to you repeatedly. The first time he did so was early in the morning, hours after Vincent died. You left Booth's couch and headed for his bed because you needed him to tell you once again who you are, that you are not cold and uncaring. He said the words you needed to hear and he held you, stroking your back so slowly and placing soft kisses in your hair. You have found that as much of him as you get, you always want more. You are greedy when it comes to Seeley Booth. At first, you thought it was greed that caused you to push yourself up and kiss his lips, that it was greed that made you to run your hands under his shirt, that it was greed which led you to whisper in the darkness, "Are you still angry?" 

Now you know it was love.

Three days later, still emotional and grieving the death of your favorite intern, you began to get a bit scared of what was changing between you and Booth. You told him that things had happened so quickly, maybe too quickly. He looked at you stoically for a moment and then he laughed. He kept laughing as you asked him what was so humorous about your earlier statement.

"Quickly? Bones, I told you once that I knew right from the beginning and I meant it. I know that I love you. I've known for a long time how much I want to be with you. There's nothing quick about us. We've been dancing around each other for seven years."

You wanted to tell him that you had actually only danced together twice. The first time was in a Washington bar, early in your partnership before serial killers and Buck and Wanda. The other was when you were pretending to be his wife, even though you had just crushed his heart. You didn't mention these moments, though, because that time you knew what he meant. Instead, you stayed silent.

He could see you hesitate. He could sense your love for him, but could also sense your inability to fully express it just yet, remembering what you said about evolution taking thousands of years. He spoke again and you just stared at his face, studying him for a clue as to what to say.

"I know you're not always sure you believe in love, but I know you believe in me. So trust me when I say that I love you and that I want all of you, even the scared and unsure parts. Even if I never hear the word 'love' come out of your mouth, I know you love me. You show me all the time, in a thousand different ways."

He took your hands and brought each one to his lips. You stopped trying to find the right words and kissed him instead. You kissed him to feel close to him. You kissed him because you simply wanted to and now you finally could. You wondered if this was one of the thousand ways he referenced and were sure in that moment you wanted to think of a thousand more.

And so you wake him up in the middle of the night to tell him you love him and you're certain the smile he gives you when he hears the words is one you want to see every day for the rest of your life. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Every time you say  
>you love me<br>I look for shelter.  
><em>

_But these matters are small._

You are sitting next to Booth at a table inside the diner, with Jared and Padme across from you. You tell them about your baby and they smile, but not as widely as Booth.

You look at Jared and think of the rush you got when you pushed him off a bar stool. And then your face softens as you remember being dangerously intrigued by this younger Booth. Your best friend had told you that you were hoping to get Booth without getting the real Booth. You denied this, but you know now that her statement was correct.

There have been so many moments in the past that have scared you. You remember new foster homes, hostile classmates, and the horror of a car trunk. Though you have always claimed and even flaunted your brilliance, you can recall the anxiety before a big exam. You remember moments when your life has been in danger:

Hanging from a hook, threatened with a knife, your body meant to be devoured by hungry dogs.

Feeling lightheaded in a buried SUV as your oxygen supply ran low, hand shaking as you tried to write the words, "This wasn't your fault."

Singing a fun pop song then hearing the gunshot that was meant for you, feeling both his blood pool between your fingers and anger that it wasn't you she shot instead.

When you think about the sight of Booth wounded and exhausted, still wearing part of the finest tux money could rent, you feel dread creep into each of your two hundred and six bones even though he is safe and is sitting beside you now, his fingers entwined with yours as he shares a joke with his brother.

Later that night when you return home to your apartment, he stays. One of you always stays. You reach for your toothbrush, which you keep in a shell from your father. You look in the mirror and see Booth walking in behind you. He lowers his head, places a kiss on your shoulder, and puts his hands on your stomach, caressing your slightly swollen belly.

"You're having my baby," he says quietly, a trace of awe in his voice that is still present after the first trimester and a sonogram.

"I am aware of that, Booth."

He smiles and you smile and he reaches for his toothbrush as you once again think about fear, simply because you are just now noticing its absence in your relationship and this surprises you.

There have been moments of great fear in your life, but there have been smaller moments, too.

You remember a drunken kiss in the rain, the taste of tequila and him on your tongue. All you wanted was sex, but as you kissed him you felt things you had never felt before, things you couldn't name or rationalize. You wanted him, but not badly enough to give into those things, whatever they were.

And then there was a night when he was involved with someone else, but you had paperwork and stale donuts and he stayed. You both confessed that you each found the other attractive, but of course you didn't say so clearly or outright. Instead, you smiled at each other, pausing a moment too long. As he leaned on the table toward you, you saw something in his eyes that caused those pesky _things_ to stir again. Though all you had to drink that day had been water, for a moment you could almost taste tequila on your tongue and you craved more.

He spoke in the diner once about making love and you felt two things, both irrational: jealousy he had known this feeling at all and fear that you would never know it without him.

You think about a moment when you should have been afraid, but weren't until after the moment had ended. There you were, showing him the exhibit no one else had seen yet. You began your little tour on separate sides of the room, but before you knew it the two of you had walked closer to each other, as if neither of you really had another choice. He asked you about the man you were going to invite to the event, but you looked at Booth in his tux and knew you had made the right choice. As you spoke his own words back to him, he stepped closer to you. He had a serious look on his face and you glanced at his lips and he glanced at yours. You were sure he would have kissed you had the group not shown up when they did. Still, he didn't back away from you immediately. You didn't back away from him, either. You needed something and you still weren't afraid so you allowed yourself to reach out and fix his bow tie, though you both knew it didn't actually need fixing. He needed something too so he reached for your hair and pushed it away from your shoulder. You both gave yourselves another second to simply enjoy each other's presence and then you walked upstairs. He drove you home that night and you invited him up to your apartment for a drink. At that moment, you couldn't think of a time when you had wanted him to accept your offer more. You didn't know this then, but he couldn't think of a time when he wanted to accept your offer more, either. But he said it was late and that the day had been long and you agreed, even though you didn't.

Alone in your apartment, you kicked off your high heels and left them in your living room. You walked into your bedroom and took off the dress that hugged your curves so elegantly. Before you could deny yourself the image, you thought about his fingers undoing the zipper, his hands pulling the dress away from your body. And there it was again: fear. Though you had wanted him and he had wanted you, you knew that had he come upstairs that night you would have ended up in your bed, him finishing the kiss he almost started and so much more.

You had slept with several men, but with none of them would you have ever used the term "ours" and meant it. You had an "ours" with Booth. You would not ruin that with sex.

"Bones? I'm pretty sure your teeth are good and clean by now," he says with a chuckle as he walks out of the bathroom.

His voice pulls you back from your memories and you realize you've been brushing the same spot for much longer than necessary. You spit out your toothpaste and place your toothbrush next to his in the shell.

Your eyes begin to fill with tears and you blame this on the hormones of pregnancy, but even you know these are not tears of sadness but of gratitude. You climb into bed next to the man you love and take his hand underneath the sheets. You both lay on your sides facing each other, you staring intently at his face.

He asks you what's on your mind and you tell him.

"I was thinking about toothbrushes, Booth."

"Toothbrushes, huh? You know, I remember what you told me about keeping those things exposed in the bathroom. . ."

He trails off with a smile and you continue.

"There was a time in my life when I was terrified of having your toothbrush next to mine and your silly socks in my drawer and your beer in my refrigerator. I don't feel afraid of those things anymore." You smile, pride all over your face.

"What changed, Bones? Why aren't you afraid anymore?"

"I used to be so frightened to get close to you because I couldn't name the emotions you made me feel. I didn't want to feel anything that deeply, but it was as if I couldn't help myself when it came to you. I know that our hearts are just an organ that cannot think or feel, but metaphorically, my heart wanted you anyway. I still don't like metaphors, Booth, but you do and I'm trying to speak your language now so you'll understand what I need to say to you. I'm not scared anymore because I know that not having your toothbrush next to mine is so much scarier than having it."

Even though you just told him you're glad he's in your life by talking about toothbrushes and your metaphorical heart, you know you said the right thing when he kisses you and you feel your baby flutter for the first time.


	4. Chapter 4

_Lying entranced  
>by your troubled life<br>within as without your arms  
>I am once again<br>Scholarly.  
>Studying a way<br>that is not mine. _

_Proof of evolution's  
>variegation. <em>

You have a stack of books on the nightstand in your apartment so tall that it's about to tip over. You have a stack of books on the nightstand in his apartment that's getting ready to do the same. You know you are exceptionally good at certain things. You're aware of your scientific brilliance, your ability to write best-selling novels, and your skill as a lover. He has lauded your mind, read every word of your books, and has told you that making love with you has been the most astounding experience of his life. He encourages you constantly and he has for a long time.

Even so, you are unsure how to be a mother. You have conquered the fears of love and commitment, but motherhood can still unsettle you sometimes. The memories of your own mother are not always pleasant. In fact, there are many moments you don't even allow yourself to remember, moments you have buried because even the good times brought you pain with their absence.

You keep buying these books on childbirth and parenting because you want to _know. _You need to know what is going to happen to your body. You need to know how to prepare your mind. You need to know how to raise a child successfully. And so you read. You read on his sofa as he watches hockey on television and yells at the screen. You read on your own sofa as he does the same, finally convincing you with his famous charm smile that the father of your child deserved to read an early draft of your next novel. You read during your lunch break at work when he's too busy to eat with you. (He is not too busy, however, to call and remind you to actually take a lunch break.) You read in the bathtub at night and then read some more in bed before you go to sleep. You are trying to memorize every word because you need to know how to do this. You need to know how to become the mother that both you and he lost too soon, so you study.

When you feel overwhelmed, he knows, though you don't always tell him. He noticed your silence during dinner tonight. He commented on it as you cleaned up his kitchen together.

"You're quiet tonight, Bones. What's the matter?" 

"Nothing, Booth. I am simply experiencing more fatigue than I am used to. I don't like it."

"You sure that's all it is? That you're tired?"

You're quiet for a moment. You know that once, you would have brushed away his concern and told him you were fine. He wouldn't have believed you, but he would have let it drop, knowing not to push you. But you have grown. You are braver now. You lost your imperviousness as soon as you walked through the door of his bedroom six months ago.

"I suppose it is more than fatigue, yes. I'm just unsure."

At this, his eyes grow and his mouth opens a bit. You recognize this as panic.

You rush to clarify.

"No, Booth, not about having this baby or the status of our relationship. I am just unsure sometimes that I will know how to be a good mother. I just don't want to fail our child. Even though I don't fully understand how this is possible, I already feel such love for this baby and I just don't know. . ."

Before you could finish, he steps toward you and embraces you, kissing your neck.

He whispers in your ear, "I know this is scary sometimes, but you will be such a good mom, Bones. I know you will. And that won't be because you studied; it'll be because you're you. Our baby is so lucky to have you for her mother."

He moves his hands up to cradle your face and you look into his eyes, nodding your acceptance of his words.

_Her. _You are having a daughter. The week after you found out your child's sex, a package arrived at Booth's apartment. He let you open it, saying it was the baby's first gift. Booth and Parker had ordered the baby a pink onesie with the Flyer's logo on the front. You felt no need to lecture the two Booths on the fact that pink is only considered a feminine color because society dictates that this is so. Instead, you laughed and hugged these two people who have become your family.

Remembering this moment, you silently remind yourself that you have a family now, a family you made yourself. You have studied evolution, but there was no way you could have studied or prepared for this kind. Your curiosity led you to study Booth, so you know by now there are things you can prepare for and other things for which you certainly cannot.

You used to wonder about his work as a sniper. And then one day you went to a funeral and afterward he told you about a time he died a little. You could recall Angela's words about touch, so you placed your hand on his arm. When he put his hand on top of yours, you were overwhelmed by a desire to heal his wounds, even though you weren't sure what they looked like, how many he kept hidden, or even how to heal your own.

You used to want to know about his girlfriends. You've had a lot of awkward moments in your life, but going to his apartment and seeing him standing there with his shirt open was one you remember so clearly. Things got worse when Tessa appeared, wearing so little. You remembered the black lace of her bra and bought one similar the next time you went shopping alone. You were unaware that it was the blond lawyer who influenced your purchase, but it didn't matter. The bra just stayed in your drawer with the tags left on it. You didn't want to wear it for a man who wasn't Booth, but by the time you figured this out there was a line.

You used to try to imagine Booth with Parker, before milkshakes and science projects and the two of them in your pool. You stood outside the diner once as Booth sat with a cocky teenage boy and tried to tell him what it really meant to be a father. When you decided you wanted a child, you only wanted Booth's. This is why the matter was dropped after a coma and a refusal on the steps of the Hoover.

You have studied Booth for years and now you know him better than you know anyone else in the world, even the dead and their bones.

But tonight you decide you don't want to be a scholar so you ignore your books. You choose to trust that since there is more than one kind of family, there is also more than one kind of mother.


	5. Chapter 5

_You would choose  
>not to come back again,<br>you say.  
>Except perhaps<br>as rock or tree. _

It took you and Booth seven years to decide to be a couple. It took you seven months after that to decide where to live. You are getting a new place together, a house. You decided this after a week when he ran out of clean suits at your place and you ran out of your favorite shampoo at his. You have already begun thinking about how you're going to mix your pricey artifacts with his quirky antiques. You hate that pregnancy limits what you can do physically, but you are glad your condition will render you ineligible from having to help move those heavy and awkward stadium seats that currently occupy Parker's bedroom in Booth's apartment.

You have already discussed things you never imagined yourself discussing seven years ago: the merging of finances, nursery colors, and how you want to have a pool for Parker's sake. It delights you to see the younger Booth happy and this delights the older Booth even more. You want Parker to feel at home in the new house. You are already a mother to him and don't always notice the moments when Booth watches the two of you from a distance, love and thankfulness filling his heart.

In these later months of your pregnancy, you are experiencing contentment you have never fully known before. But even so, when you are packing while going through some boxes you kept on the top shelf of your bedroom closet, you find a newspaper article and it steals your breath for a moment. You're sitting on your bed and you take it out of the box, hands shaking a bit as you read the headline: "FBI AGENT SHOT AND KILLED." At first you can't recall why you would ever save something like this, but then you remember: you cut it out and saved it because of his picture. You realized after you thought you had lost him that you didn't have a photo of your partner. When you saw one in the newspaper, you grabbed scissors and carefully cut out the article that told about Booth's apparent death at the hand of an unbalanced woman named Pam. You look at his picture and the glaring words accompanying it. You tear up and, as you do often in your line of work, begin to think about death.

Those two weeks in which you thought Booth was gone were the slowest two weeks of your life. You used to sit and watch the hands of your clock, noticing how the second hand seemed to move slower than it did before. The rational side of you knew this was impossible, yet you would sometimes sit and watch the clock as if it were some sort of morbid entertainment.

You sat and watched a lot during those two weeks. You sat and watched Angela sob the night you were told Booth was dead. She came home with you so you wouldn't have to be alone, but it was you who ended up consoling her.

You watched Cam as she told you over and over again that you could take some time off. You watched her, but didn't listen to her words. This did not surprise her at all.

You watched Zack as he tried to go on ahead and do his job. You appreciated him the most because he could still look you in the eye and treat you like a colleague rather than a grieving widow.

You watched Hodgins as he watched you, hoping you wouldn't notice the concern in his eyes. Ever since the two of you were buried together in that SUV, you understand life, death, and privilege a bit differently than everyone else around you.

But most of all, you watched that clock. You counted the seconds. Everyone around you thought you'd fall apart, but you didn't. You knew you were supposed to be sad, but instead you were angry. You felt rage you had never felt before. You were full of hatred for Fat Pam and her gun. You hated that she shot Booth, but you hated her more for not shooting you. You knew it should have been you and you were so angry that Booth took that bullet. Your fury would have consumed you had you been a weaker woman. You tried to block thoughts of him as much as you could with work, but Cam and Angela wouldn't let you stay in the lab forever. You had to go home.

It was when you were at home and going through the stack of newspapers that had accumulated unread on your kitchen counter that you saw the headline and his picture. His face surprised you. You stared at the image for a long while and then you grabbed the scissors from the drawer and went to work. You sat the clipping on your nightstand and it remained there until the evening before Booth's funeral when you decided you no longer wanted to remember your partner's face because you were angrier now than you had been a week earlier.

You were absolutely not going to attend his funeral because you thought the whole event was ridiculous. You knew your attendance would mean a lot to Booth, but he wasn't there. He wouldn't know you had been there. He was dead and could not possibly care. He was dead and was never coming back. He was dead.

You were so angry at Booth for dying in your place that you could not allow yourself to miss him. You would not attend his funeral because the whole mess was just so unfair and you would not partake in any ritual that tried to make it better.

But you did attend, thanks to the coaxing of your best friend. You stood and listened to Caroline speak, seething inside. You looked for Parker, but did not see him. You looked everywhere you could while trying to avoid staring at the casket, the stupid casket that would someday only hold Booth's bones.

His bones. That was you. You were his Bones. You knew he would have rolled his eyes at the pun. The nickname had stopped annoying you by then, but you never told him that. There was a lot you never told him and this made you angry, too. You wondered how you could write multiple books full of thousands of words, but somehow never quite know the ones you wanted to say to him.

As you thought about words, there he was. He was very much alive. When you realized what had happened, your anger could not be contained anymore so you hit him. It wasn't until you knew he was actually alive that you cried. That night, after the fake funeral, you went home, walked inside your apartment, and sat down on the floor against your front door and you cried. You were still angry, but these were not tears of anger or even sadness. They were tears of relief. You looked at the clock after you had sat and cried for a while and noticed the second hand seemed to be working like it used to.

You can feel your daughter kick you hard just now and this brings you back from these thoughts you don't often allow yourself to think about. You and Booth have never discussed those two weeks and you have no desire to do so. You crumple the news clipping in your hand and get up to throw it away. You're not crying. You don't feel shaky anymore. You hear Booth's keys in the door and go greet him. You know what words you wish to speak to him now and they are words like _love _and _joy _and _home. _


	6. Chapter 6

_But listen, love. Though human,  
>that is what you are<br>already  
>to this student, absorbed.<br>Human tree and rock already,  
>to me<em>.

You had a plan for your life and you were sticking to it. This was working out just fine until you told Angela you were living the life you expected and could not hide the sadness in your voice at the admission.

You watched as Angela fell in love with Hodgins. Your ideas about love then were proven to be correct when they broke up. You weren't sure what to think at first when they got back together and were married. You were happy for your friend, but you remember Booth's glance in your direction when Hodgins said their marriage was for love.

You watched as Sweets and Daisy had their ups and downs. You regretted that one of the downs was caused by you and your mistrust of the perky intern. But had you been Sweets, you knew you would have wanted to know the person you loved was being unfaithful. You were just trying to help, but only caused harm. Your guilt led you to Booth's apartment and his good bottle of scotch. You confessed some of your deepest feelings to him that night and he listened, as he always does. He made you a promise that you would someday come to believe in love and everything that goes along with it. You did not believe him quite yet, but you did let him remove the bottle of alcohol from your hands. After that, the two of you sat in silence for a while. You slouched down on the sofa and rested your head on his shoulder. He laid his cheek on top of your head and, for some reason, this gave you courage. You reached over and took his hand in yours. You laced your fingers through his and marveled at the feeling of his rough skin. When you had held his hand before, you had been wearing gloves. Sitting of his sofa, feeling your heart beat faster than normal, you longed for the ease of that skating rink and wondered why ice was the only excuse you two needed to touch each other. 

You felt like an awkward teenage girl and did not like this because you knew you were a woman, a successful woman who was the best in her field. That had been all you ever really wanted. You realized it wasn't until you met Booth that you wanted more. Sometimes you used to get angry with him for making you so discontent.

After a few more silent minutes of holding his hand, you let go and got up. You said it was late and that you should go. He didn't try to stop you and you almost wished he had. He walked you to the door and as you stood there before him, you wanted more of him than what you already possessed. But that was not part of your plan, so you drove home to your empty apartment and wondered about fate, even though you didn't believe in it then.

As you feel the first labor pain, you can't help but think once again about fate. As the contractions get closer together, you find yourself amazed that you are having a child and even more amazed that you are having Booth's child. You have had nine months to prepare for this and you have done the best you can with your time. But when you feel the agony of childbirth take over your body, you know that you can't ever prepare for something as capricious as life. You close your eyes and feel sweat running down your face, and then you feel him with a cool rag trying to wipe it away.

That is Booth: someone who helps you with your pain and has ever since you slid him the folder detailing your parents' disappearance. You open your eyes and look into his. He murmurs something in your ear, but you're not sure what he says because right now you are only concentrating on delivering your daughter.

You are desperate to meet her. She was not in your original plan, but neither were her father and his son. The pain is getting more extreme by the moment, but you know you can survive this because you have already survived so much pain.

You survived the pain of losing your parents, only to gain a sly yet caring father. You survived the abandonment of your brother and were able to gain a friend after some confessions and forgiveness. You have survived so much with Booth already: thinking you lost him for good, sitting with him throughout his coma, refusing his offer of love, and then watching in hurt as he loved someone else. Neither your credentials nor your beauty nor every wall you ever erected could stop that pain from coming into your life. In the beginning, Booth pursued you because of your credentials, would have slept with you because of your beauty, and eventually loved you so much that he would wait as long as he could for your walls to come down. It was because of Booth that you had to abandon your plans. You could not have planned for him.

You did not plan your baby girl, but the instant you see her you cannot imagine the world existing without her existing, too. You look at your daughter and then you turn your eyes to Booth. You have never seen so much joy on his face. He kisses your forehead and thanks you for giving him such a precious gift, but all you can think about is that it was him who gave you the gift of your own life. He stayed and he loved you the more he knew you. There were years in which you never would have believed this was possible, but you believe a lot of things now that contradict the assumptions you held onto for so long.

You think once again about a university lecture hall and can picture him as he walked toward you. When he asked if you believed in fate, you said no. Were he to ask again, you think you couldn't help but say yes.


End file.
